


Herbal Soothers

by A_Study_In_Johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Bottoming from the Top, Friends to Lovers, Herbal Soothers, M/M, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Rough fluff, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 23:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17293082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Study_In_Johnlock/pseuds/A_Study_In_Johnlock
Summary: He really should thank Mrs. Hudson for buying them as a Christmas gift. Sometimes, he was sure their landlady knew exactly what she was doing since–not only was she the one who’d spilled eggnog on John’s other pair of jeans, telling him to just put on one of the new pair so he ‘wouldn’t have to go all the way back upstairs. Seems pointless, if you ask me…”–she was the one who’d given them the joint. Sherlock almost laughed.Herbal soothers.





	Herbal Soothers

**Author's Note:**

> I have not written Johnlock in forever! Let's go, I hope you enjoy ;)

Sherlock was susceptible to becoming aroused when he got high. He could feel it pulsing, thrumming through him, the heaviness of it, the pooling warmth in his lower body as he felt his cock become half hard in his trousers. His next breath shook, but he was sure that John–who was sitting right beside him on sofa (also high)–hadn’t heard. Sherlock was sitting with his right leg under his thigh and his left leg placed on the coffee table. He’d taken his shoes off some time ago when he and John came home after an interesting case of a woman who was sure her house was being haunted  by ghosts when items in the kitchen had been moved without her doing so.  _ Famished ghost,  _ John had joked which sprung Sherlock into action-- _ why only the kitchen? No evidence of items moving in any other room? No? Well then, I’m afraid someone else is staying here,  _ to which John replied–

In fact, how  _ was  _ John doing?

Sherlock blinked, the walls of 221B seeping back into his sight and looked over at his partner and best friend who looked just as high as Sherlock, himself, felt. Sherlock felt his mouth tick up into a lazy smile, suddenly filled with an immense, warm elation in his heart that he and John could still share these moments after…

Sherlock cleared his mind, realising he’d been staring at his friend for much too long, but John didn’t seem to notice and, if he did, he said nothing. Still, Sherlock looked away because John had not particularly stated that he’d wanted his best friend to stare at him with obviously dilated pupils and a half hard cock. 

_ Not gay. _

“I want tea,” John suddenly murmured and his voice was low and rough from having not spoken since after their joint was gone. It sent a small jolt through Sherlock, unable to stop his mind from going where it always went around John, but  _ God,  _ he could practically see the man bending him over some dubious piece of furniture while pounding into him, whispering filthy things into his ear with that voice, sending him over the edge with just one simple stroke to his swollen cock–

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably as his cock pulsed in his trousers. He took a deep breath and turned back to John.

“I’d like a cup.” Sherlock added in as he watched John rise from the couch, his motions slow, but steady. Sherlock watched John walk into the kitchen, watched the way those jeans stretched around his arse. He really should thank Mrs. Hudson for buying them as a Christmas gift. Sometimes, he was sure their landlady knew  _ exactly  _ what she was doing since–not only was she the one who’d spilled eggnog on John’s other pair of jeans, telling him to just put on one of the new pair so he ‘ _ wouldn’t have to go all the way back upstairs. Seems pointless, if you ask me…”–she  _ being the one who’d given them the joint. Sherlock almost laughed.

_ Herbal soothers.  _

Until Lestrade rushed in with a holiday case—at least an eight. When they’d gotten back,  Rosie had been put to bed. Mrs. Hudson had offered to keep her for the night, offering them ‘ _ one last Christmas gift’  _ before they retired upstairs. Of course, John thought it was out of the question. Sherlock convinced him otherwise though with a  _ Really, John, if Mrs. Hudson uses it for her hip, how harmful can it be? I’m aware of your aversion to my past, but this is hardly even akin to cocaine and, if I’m being honest, it would be beneficial to us both as a relaxer.  _

It was that comment that stopped John short. His expression was vulnerable, blue eyes open and wide as he took Sherlock in. Then, he gave a nod. “Fine. But Rosie stays downstairs.”

And so, that’s how they ended up here. Sherlock felt, for a moment, like he was floating within his own headspace until John filled that space, once again, with his very presence. The man always managed to take up space within the confines of Sherlock’s mind and Sherlock happily made room.

“Kettle’s on,” he said, by way of an explanation. They sat for a long moment in amicable silence. Sherlock noted that John’s dark blue orbs were swimming in a sea of red and, for once, not from tears. It hurt Sherlock more than he was willing to admit when the thought passed his mind. 

At least, now, John seemed to be more relaxed. In fact, John looked much more at rest as he leaned back against the cushion, legs spread in order to accommodate his own body as he gazed down into the fire with a lazed, yet wondrous expression. 

“Herbal soothers,” John murmured

“Hmm, yes,” Sherlock hummed before they disintegrated into laughter. 

When silence and the sound of the crackling fire once filled the room sitting room again, John gazed at Sherlock who gazed back. 

“This was a good idea, Sherlock. Brilliant.”

Sherlock couldn’t stop the warmth from spreading through his chest, his pulse speeding up at the compliment, which quickly had a zing of anxiety and guilt follow after which caused him to look away, back into the fire. 

“Especially the way you handled the case tonight.” 

Sherlock’s brain stuttered at the word  _ handled  _ because John’s tone had taken on something slightly different that Sherlock couldn’t quite pinpoint, but had him looking back at John with what he knew must be a deer in headlights expression. “I...what?” his eyebrows furrowed, gazing at John as if he had two heads as he took in heady expression on the man’s face, those dark blue eyes smoldering back to him.

“I said,” John cleared his throat, his tongue peaking out to wet his lips, as he eyed Sherlock. “ _ Especially  _ the way you handled the case tonight. Swift, to the point, and brilliant. As always.”

Sherlock’s lips had parted in shock and he worked quickly to close his mouth. “I…” he trailed off, frowning deeper as he realised he had nothing to follow his first word other than, “Really?”

John’s lip quirked up into a smirk filled with mirth, yet his eyes filled with heat. “Yeah, really. You always do, though. Watching the way your mind works, the way you move–the way you take control of a crime scene, demanding and gaining your respect just by paying attention and telling people what they don’t see…” John shook his head, chuckling as he propped his elbow up, resting his jaw against the palm of his hand. “ _ God,  _ I leave crime scenes so hard, Sherlock, you’ve no idea.” he breathed. Sherlock’s eyes widened at the admittance and he couldn’t help the way his cock hardened against his thigh in his trousers. 

Sherlock felt himself gulp rather than consciously perform the action himself before he licked his lips, watching as John’s eyes followed the movement. “John.” it was all he said, but John’s eyes flickered to his, widened, as if he’d said he wanted to fuck him. 

“Sherlock,” was all John said as he got to his feet, standing over Sherlock gazed back up at him with a hazed expression, verdigris eyes shining from the firelight. “Can I have you?” 

Sherlock’s jaw dropped, but before he could answer, the kettle began to whistle. John only smirked before walking towards the kitchen, his eyes following John the entire way. He hadn’t said anything, yet John would still be coming back, so he’d have to. 

When he came back with two mugs in hand, Sherlock shakily reached his hand out to grab his own, blowing and taking small sips as he watched John sit across from him, his expression taking on an entirely new level of focus as he watched Sherlock watch him. It was all too much for the detective who found himself wanting to look away.

“Why do you do that?” John inquired, causing Sherlock to flinch. John’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched him do it. 

“Do what?” Sherlock wanted to be sure he knew what he was being asked. 

“Look away.”

“I…” Sherlock trailed off and then decided honesty would be his best option before taking another sip. “I didn’t think you wanted me to. I usually allow myself a few seconds so as to not make you feel uncomfortable.” Now they were making unfaltering eye contact. 

“You don’t make me feel uncomfortable.” John’s eyes softened as he took Sherlock in. “You could never.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure how to take the admission. But, he knew where to go next. “Yes.”

John stopped for a moment, but then the realisation crossed his features. “Yeah?” he inquired, setting his cup down before rising to his feet, looking down at Sherlock with blown pupils. “Then, say it.”

“I–” Sherlock gulped, lips almost flapping like a fish as he tried to gather his wits and his courage. “You...you can have me.”

“Everything?” John’s voice lowered, sauntering closer to the man, reminding him of a predator. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Sherlock breathed. “Everything and anything, John.”

“Anything?” John questioned, lips turning down in consideration, watching as Sherlock nodded adamantly. “Knees.” and the man acquiesced much quicker and easier than he ever assumed he would. He threw himself out of his chair and landed, hard, on his knees, barely registering a thing before undoing John’s trousers who was looking down at him with an expression of awe and blatant shock. 

Sherlock couldn’t stop himself once he’d gotten John’s trousers and pants down in one go, gasping as his cock sprung up–hard, dripping with precome, and  _ waiting.  _ Sherlock slipped his mouth around the spongy head of John’s cock and  _ sucked _ , dragging his tongue up the head, swallowing the tang and, admittedly, smacking his lips, his tongue chasing the taste on his lips, causing John to groan low in the back of his throat. 

He couldn’t stop himself from curling his tongue around the width of the man’s cock before sinking down a little further, casting his gaze up at John who was sort of looking at him like he’d grown three heads, but not at all in a fearful way. He was in shock, definitely, but his gaze was heady and  _ heavy _ , challenging Sherlock to keep going, a hint of a smirk beginning to grow.

He went further, slowly bobbing his head down then back up, taking more as he dived back down, causing John’s knees to buckle, stopping his hips from bucking as Sherlock began to steadily bob his head, his throat clicking with each time the head of John’s cock hit the back of his throat. 

“ _ Fuuuck _ ,” John gritted out in a breath, eyebrows furrowing as he cupped Sherlock’s face, hissing and eyes fluttering as he took in Sherlock’s watery, unfocused eyes. He curled his hand under Sherlock’s jaw, his thumb coming up to caress the man’s pouty, spit-slicked bottom lip. He knew he could very easily come like this, but he’d rather be in an entirely different position. “That’s enough,” he grunted, his breath coming out shakily, especially as Sherlock gently removed his mouth, his tongue brushing up against the underside of his cock and frenulum before he pulled back, licking his lips, and clearing his throat though it didn’t do much to clear the roughness of it.

“ _ Enough  _ enough?” he inquired, the rasp and baritone going hand in hand, wrapping itself like a delicious present that made John’s cock twitch because he knew exactly  _ why  _ Sherlock’s voice sounded the way it did. 

“Of course not,” John almost rolled his eyes as he pulled his trousers up. “Bedroom.”

“Yes, Captain.” 

John couldn’t help his reaction and he acted much faster than he could register, leaning over to latch his lips to Sherlock’s in a heated kiss just at being called  _ captain,  _ which should have made John feel ashamed–or so he told himself–but all he felt was the heat twisting in his gut and in his bollocks, needing Sherlock more than his shame.

“Let’s go,” was all he said and Sherlock looked back at him with a heated gaze of his own because it meant  _ promise.  _ Sherlock, with the help of John’s hands, rose from his knees, ignoring their groaning in complaint. Still holding his left hand, John led Sherlock towards their room and ordered the man to undress; he did so without any complaint or hesitation under John’s watchful eye, feeling more naked that way than the actual act. 

When he was,  _ naked,  _ of course, he watched John’s eyes trail down his body in a way that no one ever had and in a way that had him  _ leaking.  _

“Have you got lube?” 

“Bedside table.”

John arched an eyebrow. “Pretty close,” he murmured before going to grab the lube as he said, “Conveniently so, Sherlock.” which also had him leaking, like he was caught for doing a dirty deed. “Get on the bed. Back on your knees, but also your arms,” he rasped as he opened the drawer, taking the tube out. Sherlock immediately went to climb onto the middle of the mattress, practically presenting himself, supporting his upper half on his elbows as his hands clasped together.

“Start us off, love,” John murmured, placing the tube next to Sherlock as he began to unbutton his own shirt. Sherlock eyed the tube with a flicker of anxiety at the thought of  _ showing _ John...but he tried to push it back, far away in the back of his mind. With a deep, steadying breath, he snatched up the tube and coated his index finger, bring his arm behind him as he relaxed his body, gently running his finger along his rim, shivering at the sensation before gently nudging his finger in, the slickness causing his hole to give away easily, sinking in almost immediately, causing his eyes to cross.

“Oh, look at you,” John breathed like Sherlock was a dream. Sherlock glanced up and moaned as he John getting fully undressed, his arms sturdy and steady, his stomach firm, and his cock rock hard. Sherlock pulled his arm back and coated his second finger and gently worked them inside, meeting slightly more resistance before scissoring his fingers as he stretched himself. John slowly rounded him, climbing onto the bed behind him, taking a hold of his hand. Sherlock pulled his fingers out, using his other to weakly pass John the lube. He heard the snick of the lid, heard it close, and felt his pulse speed up in anticipation. He felt John’s free hand come up to spread the globe of his arse, revealing his hole before he felt the tip of the man’s finger gently push in, gasping at the thicker digit that didn’t belong to him. 

John went for two, spreading his fingers apart to stretch Sherlock further before working him up to a third. Sherlock’s knees buckled at the stretch, but John went slowly, gently screwdriving them in until Sherlock’s hole opened up and swallowed them–then, he stretched them. Sherlock groaned low, in the back of his throat as his hips ground back to meet John’s fingers that were now teasing at his prostate. 

“Perks of being with an army doctor,” Sherlock moaned out. 

John smirked and Sherlock could hear it in his voice. “You knew it from the start.”

Sherlock buried his face in his hands, laughing breathlessly. “Merely a hope, I assure you.”

“Are you ready?” he inquired, dipping down to press his lips to the middle of Sherlock’s spine, causing the man to jump. 

“Y-yes,” he lifted his head back up, looking back at John with hazed eyes. John sat back on his haunches and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s torso, pulling him back so that Sherlock was sitting up on his knees, his back against John’s chest, centred over his cock. John slicked himself up and Sherlock gazed back at him with an arousingly darkened look as he slowly sank down over the length of his cock. 

Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed and his body attempted to burrow forward at the sensation of being absolutely stretched, but John held him back, one arm across his collar bone and the other arm crossed over his stomach. Sherlock mewled in shock at the restraint, finding his cock hardening even further at the realisation that he  _ liked  _ it. John began pound into him at a very slow, torturous pace that had Sherlock’s eyes crossing as, with each hard  _ push _ , John was hitting his prostate, causing his cock to leak profusely. 

“Oh, my…” Sherlock breathed, releasing a long string of expletives after, beginning to work his hips back as best as he could, slamming them down as John rocked up, their skin resounding with the sheer force. He was  _ so  _ close, he could feel the familiar tingling, the twitching of his cock. “ _ John _ ,” he gasped, almost like he was in shock. 

“You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart?” John rasped against Sherlock’s neck, his teeth sinking into his skin, sucking. His thrusts sped up, causing the pitch to rise in Sherlock’s moans. “ _ Ohh _ , there you go,” John groaned, letting the arm across Sherlock’s collarbone rise so that he could wrap his fingers in those raven curls and pull his head towards him. 

Sherlock, breathless and a little unfocused, chasing the rising sensation of his approaching orgasm, kissed John feverishly, letting the man swallow all of his sounds as he gasped, his hips twitching as his body stilled, his cock spurting copious amounts of come as Sherlock fell over the deep end, hard. He nearly screamed with it, but John was taking it all, his lips never faltering their messy, heated kiss as he, too, felt his bollocks tighten, the heat pooling in his belly and his spine as he rammed his cock into Sherlock, releasing his come until they were just a mindless grind of exhausted, come drunk bodies.

It took them a couple minutes, but John eventually gathered his wits to clean them up and he did so, wetting a washcloth in the adjoining bathroom, finding Sherlock bent over and head buried in the sheets. “Alright, love?” he inquired, his hand resting gently on his back.

“Oh, yeah,” Sherlock said lightly, almost dreamily. “Absolutely.”

Proud of himself, John cleaned Sherlock and placed the washcloth in the dirty clothes bin before climbing back into the bed where Sherlock was adjusting himself to lie next to him. John pulled him close so that they were still facing each other, but he took Sherlock into his arms so that he could place his chin on top of Sherlock’s head. He felt and heard rather than saw Sherlock yawn. 

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock murmured, pressing his lips to his scar, almost making John flinch in response before his eyes welled up with tears, a smile slowly sliding onto his face, running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls.

“Thank you, love.” John whispered back. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you guys enjoyed it–comments make me happy. If there are any spelling errors, please let me know; I'll try to fix them asap. 
> 
> If you want to follow me, here's my tumblr: http://consulting-writer.tumblr.com/
> 
> If you have any one-shot prompts, let me know!


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